


Since it all begun (To its reckoning)

by AerinAlanna



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Dubious Consent, I couldn't get the stupid thing out of my head so here it is, Implied cultural non-con, M/M, No Character Death, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:00:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27127570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AerinAlanna/pseuds/AerinAlanna
Summary: Eric Bittle's plan to keep his people safe when an army comes to take his land is hoping that they like baked goods.His backup plan is to offer them his life.
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 1
Kudos: 43





	Since it all begun (To its reckoning)

**Author's Note:**

> This bounced around in my head and my Scrivener for so long that I decided to post it. There are several scenes missing, but I think it's relatively comprehensible without them. It's neither complete nor incomplete, but I may end up writing more of it at some point. Don't ask me why my brain decided to come up with this, because I don't have an answer.

Jack wasn’t sure what was happening as he and his men rode through the open gates. The fief they had been sent to take was silent, its people lining the main road with their heads bowed and not a belt-knife among them. He could feel the tension growing in his men as they tried to figure out what was going on, but he kept his head up and his hands steady on the reins as they approached the hall. Its doors were also thrown open, and Jack thought he caught the smell of roasted meat, and pastry, before he refocused. “Oluransi, Holtzman, with me. The rest of you, stay alert.”

The two men dismounted when he did and handed their reins to their seconds, then followed him into the hall, hands, like his, on the hilts of their swords. As they entered the hall, Jack’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the sudden change in lighting, and then he stopped short at what he saw. And smelled, for his nose had not deceived him earlier.

The long table was covered with enough food to feed a town. Meats, vegetables, pasties, sweets—his eyes couldn’t take them all in. Even stranger, the household was gathered around the edges of the room, as silent and docile as the people outside. And standing in front of him, closer to the table than the door, was a young man in clothes befitting a lord, holding a pie.

Jack blinked. This was certainly the oddest place he’d ever been sent to take. “Who are you?” he asked. “What is…” he waved a hand around vaguely “…this?”

The young man stepped forward, the pie taking up both hands in such a way that it was obvious he posed no threat. “I am Eric Bittle. I assume that you are Lord Zimmermann?”

Jack nodded. “I am.”

Eric smiled, far more cheerfully than could be accounted for, even though some of it was obviously forced. “Welcome. We surrender, and, um…” he glanced around, “we hope to please you with this food, and the lodging we’ve prepared, so that you’ll feel no need to destroy anything or hurt anyone.” The smile faded from his face as he stopped a yard in front of Jack. “And, um…” His eyes were brown, and wide, and he looked suddenly very young. “If you must take a life, please let it be mine.” He knelt, the pie still in his hands coming to rest on his bent legs, and Jack had no idea what to say.

* * * * *

Bitty would have liked to pretend that he wasn’t trembling, that every fiber of his body wasn’t braced against the probabilities in front of him, but he knew himself too well to even try. When the man whose army has taken control of your manor and your fief orders you to attend him in the solar you just moved your belongings out of, there are very few conclusions to which you can jump, none of them good. And Bitty preferred to face things head-on, even if denial was simpler in the short term.

He had thought about changing clothes, about trying to make himself pretty or not pretty or younger or older, but decided in the end that it was best to just be himself, and hope that honesty and his nonthreatening self would be sufficient to keep them all safe.

The door to the solar opened before he raised his hand to knock, and their sudden proximity made him realize how much larger Lord Zimmermann was, even out of armor. Bitty had always been smaller than the men and boys around him, but Lord Zimmermann was taller by far, and wider, his shoulders nearly filling the doorway as he stared at Bitty.

“Good. You’re here.”

Bitty swallowed against his suddenly dry throat. “Yes, Lord Zimmermann.” He waited for a response, an order, a question, but the man just watched him. “You summoned me, my lord?” he asked finally.

Lord Zimmerman blinked. “Yes, I did.” He stepped back into the solar, turning away. Slightly confused, Bitty followed. He felt as if the solar should have changed more, with a different man in it, but it felt overall the same. Lord Zimmermann had gone to the desk and was standing there as he scribbled at some paper, so Bitty stopped in the middle of the room, not wanting to interrupt.

The scratching of pen on paper stopped, and Lord. Zimmermann straightened. “That was a very dramatic surrender, Lord Bittle.”

Bitty bit his lip. “I thought it would have to be, in order for you to not think it was a trap.”

Lord Zimmerman hmphed. “All that food, too. My men are quite pleased with it.”

Bitty bowed slightly. “It is our wish to please them.”

Lord Zimmermann turned to face him fully, and Bitty found himself trapped by the bluest eyes he had ever seen. “And me?”

Bitty nearly choked on his tongue. “I—yes? I mean, of course, my lord. Wh-what can we offer you?”

Lord Zimmermann lifted a brow. “Earlier you offered me your life.”

Bitty felt his breath catch. He had hoped…but he had known that keeping his own life was too much to ask, when everything else was at stake. He swallowed. “Yes, my lord. I did.” He removed his belt, too cognizant of the lack of sword and sheath, then knelt, placing it to the side. Suddenly every breath was sweet, every beat of his heart precious, his attention torn between the life in his body and the sword at Lord Zimmermann’s side that would end it. He waited, counting each breath, thinking of the people in the hall below who would live.

“I didn’t say I wanted it.”

Bitty’s eyes opened, though he wasn’t sure when they had closed. He drew in deep breaths, dizzy with the thought that he might not die today, after all.

Staring up at Lord Zimmermann, he fumbled for words. “My lord?”

“I didn’t bring you here to kill you, Lord Bittle.”

Bitty tried to recover something of the dignity he liked to think he normally possessed, though he found it more difficult to attain on his knees, in front of the man to whom he had handed everything he owned. “What do you wish of me, my lord?”

Lord Zimmermann’s lips parted, and a trace of something Bitty couldn’t name swept across his face and was gone. “The food. I talked to the cook, and she said that she prepared many of the savory dishes, but that all the recipes were yours, as were the rest of the dishes and all of the sweets. Is that so?”

Bitty eyed him warily for a moment before remembering to continue being honest. “Yes, my lord.” He tried to subtly adjust his position in order to get feeling back in his feet and ankles, but Lord Zimmermann noticed, his gaze darting from Bitty’s face to his legs and back again to his face, then frowning.

“Stand up.”

Bitty eased himself to his feet as quickly as he could. “Forgive me, my lord.” He swallowed away the humiliation and added, “I am unaccustomed to kneeling.”

The same odd expression crossed Lord Zimmermann’s face, then he shook his head and continued. “My liege is to visit in a fortnight. Can you plan and prepare for sufficient food to feed him and ten of his men for several days?”

Bitty nodded. “Yes, of course, my lord.” He paused, trying to tot up the supplies they had left after the feast they had so recently prepared, and bit his lip. “My lord,” he began without thinking, then cut himself off.

“What is it, Bittle?”

Seeing no sign of irritation on Lord Zimmermann’s face, Bitty continued cautiously. “We cannot manage anything like what we prepared for you and your men, sir; not from our current stores if we want sufficient left for the winter. We had…” He broke off again, looking away, and it was a long moment before he looked back up. “It was my decision, my lord. I will make it work, but food may be tight this winter.”

Lord Zimmermann frowned. “You had…what? What was your decision?”

Bitty straightened his shoulders. “I made the choice to prioritize everyone surviving your attack over plentiful stores for the winter. I figured that with rationing, extra hunting, and sufficient foraging, we could all still make it through even with depleted stores. But I…I did not plan on such a notable visit occurring, and the foodstuffs required to avoid giving offense are…more than we can safely afford to expend, my lord.”

Lord Zimmermann’s face wore an expression of mixed curiosity and surprise. “How do you know all of that?”

Bitty blinked. “My mother taught me, and my grandmother, while she lived. I—I had a knack for estimating it, and then it turned out that I bake when I’m worried, and…” He looked down at the floor. “I worried a lot while we were waiting for you all to arrive.”

* * * * *

Jack was more than tired as he ascended to the solar. The level of social graces required of him at such a grand occasion was more than he could handle even on an irregular basis, and with two more days of this visit, he wasn’t sure he could get through it without insulting someone he shouldn’t.

He thanked any deity that happened to be listening when he opened the solar door and found the room already lit and with a warm fire burning in the hearth. Facing its heat, he began to strip off the too-formal attire he had worn for the banquet, sighing in relief as he got down to his more comfortable underclothes. Being rid of them, as well, would only be another moment’s work, and then he could—

A noise from behind him cut off the thought, and he whirled around, reaching for the knife that was no longer at his hip. Bittle. Standing in front of the bed with his lips parted in shock and his body wrapped in the most informal of robes. When their eyes met, Bittle’s expression went from shock to apprehension, and he looked down at the same moment that he dropped to his knees.

“Forgive me, my lord; I didn’t expect…”

Jack waited, but Bittle didn’t continue. “You didn’t expect…what? To find me here in my solar?” Even with Bittle’s head bowed, Jack could see his face turn red. “What are you doing here, Lord Bittle? I assume that you did not intend to murder me in my own chamber, or you would have done so before I noticed you.”

Bittle’s gaze lifted first, then he rose to his feet. “I was reminded by the conversation this evening that our surrender to you was not complete. I do not wish to withhold any of the spoils of your triumph, nor to make you demand them.” He unfastened the front of the robe, his eyes seeking confirmation in Jack’s expression.

“Lord Bittle—”

“Please. We both know it is only courtesy that you continue to call me that. My name is Eric, though you have every right to call me what you wish.”

“Bittle…” Jack tried to think about the other man’s words, but he was distracted by the skin he could see between the open front of the robe. Bittle’s eyes tracked the direction of his gaze, and he slid the robe off of his shoulders and let it fall to the floor, baring his body. Jack swallowed and drew in a careful breath, but found no words.

“I…I have no expectations of gentleness, my lord,” Bittle began. He stood straight, his innate dignity visible even now, but there was something about his voice that caught Jack’s attention. “But I…” He licked his lips, a touch of nervousness in his otherwise poised facade. “I have not done this before, so if you have any inclination towards kindness, I would be…most grateful.” He bowed his head again, as if ashamed of his request, and Jack recognized the tone of his voice. It was the same one in which he had offered Jack his life both times: scared, but too cognizant of his duty to do otherwise.

“I would not demand that of you, Bittle. I do not require the use of your body in exchange for your people’s safety.” He could feel the weight of the air in the room change as Bittle looked up at him again, the cool of the room showing itself in the raised bumps on Bittle’s skin and the shivers he kept suppressing. Jack frowned and shook his head. “That law is old, and should not be enforced.”

He thought the matter dealt with, until Bittle lifted his chin. “You have the right to any bedmate you wish, my lord, and I am sure it will not be difficult for you to find one.” Bittle drew himself up to his full height, which was still half a foot less than Jack’s, and his eyes were hard. “But if I find out that any of them were unwilling, I will challenge you, and I will win.”

Jack was utterly taken aback. One moment Bittle offered him his body, the next he threatened him with something that Jack very much doubted he could manage. But the purpose of the threat was clear. He stood straight, towering even more over Bittle, until the inherent imbalance in power reflected in Bittle’s eyes. “I will take no one to my bed who does not wish to be there.”

Bittle’s eyes were wide. “That is all I ask.”

Then Jack stepped forward again, his body closing the distance between them. “I do not require that you give yourself to me, Bittle, but I would not be averse to it, and I would not mind having someone in my bed tonight.”

Bittle’s hands came up to rub at his arms, unconsciously crossing protectively over his chest, and swallowed. “I thought you’d have me flogged for saying that.”

Jack stifled a chuckle. “Then why say it?”

“Because it needed to be said.”

“Hmm.” Jack began to remove the rest of his clothes, until he was as naked as Bittle. “I’m not going to flog you for wanting to protect your people. I will admit to some curiosity, though.” He tilted his head. “Do you truly think you could beat me?”

Bittle’s eyes met his squarely. “Not in a wrestling match, perhaps; but in a sword fight…” He shrugged. “We would have to see.” Jack laughed outright, then wondered when he had last done so. “You certainly do not lack courage, Bittle.” His gaze traced the other man’s body, all lean muscle and almost delicate lines. “I find myself wondering how your surrender would look.” He shook his head, the tips of his ears red. “Never mind. Please, forget I said that, it’s—”

“No.” Bittle knelt again, and Jack had the sudden thought that he had seen Bittle on his knees more than anyone else ever had. “You have been all that is chivalrous, to me as well as to my people. You are more than owed my surrender.” Jack would have spoken could he have found the words, but he could think of nothing that did not sound trite or patronizing. Then Bittle leaned forward, his lips parting to take Jack’s cock, and the heat and wetness put all thoughts from his mind save the pleasure he felt.

There was a hesitancy about the way Bittle approached this that made it somehow sweet. An almost-imperceptible pause before he used his tongue, an insecurity that made his inexperience clear on both sides of this act. Jack realized that his hand had found its way into Bittle’s hair somehow, carding through its softness as he made little sounds of pleasure. As he approached the peak, he managed to say, “You don’t. Have to,” but was a little disappointed when Bittle pulled away a moment later.

“Have to what?” Bittle’s brown eyes looked up at him from where he knelt, and Jack felt his heart thud against his ribcage. Bittle looked utterly ravished there, on his knees with his hair mussed and his lips wet, staring up at Jack as if he’d do anything Jack said. Then his eyes clouded, “Oh,” and he slowly stood. He looked anxious again, his fingers tangling in front of him. “I’m sorry, I—” He bit his lip, and Jack was nearly undone. “Do—do you want to have me? What I said before, it’s not necessary; you can do what you want with me, of course, and—”

“Bittle.”

Bittle stopped short. “Yes, my lord?”

“Bend over the bed.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He turned to the bed and bent over it, giving Jack a fine view of Bittle’s strong legs and round buttocks. Bittle had folded his arms under his shoulders, and Jack had a strong urge to touch the shoulder-blades and waist laid out before him. Then he saw that Bittle was shivering again, and he doubted that the cool room was the only reason.

“I won’t hurt you, Bittle. You may not expect gentleness, but I would not be satisfied with anything less.”


End file.
